Family Reunion
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: The trolls convince Kristoff to go to Arendelle, for the coronation of Queen Elsa and to sell ice (and find a girl, hint hint).


_**Soli Deo gloria**_

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Frozen or any of Frozen's songs' lyrics. So, for all the commercialization of Anna, Elsa, Olaf, and Sven, there is not NEARLY enough love for Kristoff. He is funny, tough, loyal, helpful, strong, good with directions, knows how to make the right friends, and doesn't have a frozen heart. He's a good guy, and so here's a story featuring Christopher. Er, Kristoff. :P**

Summers in Adrendelle always end in a magnificent sunset. It was one of the only things that kept Kristoff going that day.

It'd be a long few hours since sunrise; all morning and afternoon, with nary a break for a hastily-made lunch or a trip behind trees, Kristoff'd been soaked in sweat, his teeth set on edge, as he heaved huge blocks of cut ice out of the dangerously cold mountain lake. Cutting them nearly broke his back, and Sven had watched worriedly, his head craned at an angle and his pouty lips set in a worried line as his best buddy sawed and heaved.

Sven worried about Kristoff when his back was turned. Mostly because he remembered the old days, when he and Kristoff were little orphans sent off from a warm breakfast by the trolls to a nice, hearty day of breaking down little chunks of ice right by the side of the older, stronger, more experienced ice men. Those were the days holding Kristoff's childhood. But as the years wore on, he grew his own business as his small body grew into a stronger man's. He became the sole employee of his own ice business. He talked to the men for business opportunities, and occasionally asked them to pick him something up from town, but that was the extent of his conversation. Otherwise, he was so excluded from human interaction that even Sven knew that couldn't be normal.

Hey, it wasn't like the guy was quiet. Just because Kristoff breathed heavily when he worked and often laughed for periods without breathing didn't mean he didn't talk. He and Sven had many a good, intellectual conversation together, even if Sven never said a word. Even now, as the afternoon hung low and grew old, Kristoff spoke up for Sven's answer after he had said (almost rhetorically), "Is it time to go back to the trolls?" He glanced at his reindeer, all tied up and ready to go rip-roarin' across the country with their load of ice for the day, and said in his exaggerated voice, "Yeah. But I'm _tired_. I've been on my feet ALL day."

"Really? And who's been the one making his living all day while his best friend chases his tail and rolls around on the ice in a sad attempt to wash his fur?" Kristoff said, amused, to Sven.

Sven rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Kristoff shook his head as well, making his brown eyes all big and puppylike, and said in his whiny, Sven voice, "Someone who USED to be my best buddy, before he turned out to be all _mean_."

"Hey, I'm not mean. I'm just being honest," Kristoff said in his defense.

Sven harrumphed and turned to look at the vast ice-covered mountains instead of Kristoff attempting to pry his tongs onto the sides of the last chunk of ice for the day.

"You know I don't like it when you speak to me that way!" Kristoff voiced Sven's thoughts with an amused grin on his face. Needless to say, he was a man who liked the sound of his own voice.

"Aw, c'mon, buddy; don't be so down. You're not mad at me." Kristoff paused to breathe heavily and laugh and grunt as he caught a hold on the slippery, jagged sides of the ice block. He picked up the conversation as he hurried to the sleigh before the ice block could literally slip from beneath his fingers. "You CAN'T stay mad at me. I don't think you have the ability to."

Sven blew a raspberry while still facing the icecaps. He was thoroughly trying to avoid Kristoff; why did he have to be so mean?

"Sven, don't act like that. It's not attractive. You're just getting slobber everywhere when you blow a raspberry like that," Kristoff said, still in his joking voice. He set the ice block in the last little place left in the 3D rectangle he had. The ice block in its place was like the last piece of the puzzle. Kristoff sighed, relieved, and tossed the pair of tongs to the front of the sleigh. The throw didn't touch Sven in the slightest, yet he knit his eyebrows together and looked angry at Kristoff, as if he had somehow endangered his life.

Kristoff didn't notice this particular expression of anger. He threw back the flap of canvas over the ice to keep it cold and then walked around to the front of the sleigh. Clambering in, the reins resting in his hands, he leaned forward and rubbed Sven's side vigorously. The reindeer tried as he might to ignore the affectionate gesture; his head bobbed up and down and front but never towards the back where Kristoff was saying, "Sven, cheer up. I'm sorry, if that means anything to you. Now, c'mon." He sat back, grabbed a large, dirt-encrusted carrot and dangled it in front of his reindeer, quickly captivating Sven's attention, turning him from a begrudged friend to a happy, panting, doggie-reindeer.

"You think about your stomach an awful lot, don't you, buddy?" Kristoff said, smirking and tossing Sven the carrot. The reindeer caught it and slurped it up like a noodle. Kristoff laughed at the nose and patted Sven's side. Leaning back in his sleigh, he said to his best friend, to himself, and the echoes of the mountain range, "Let's go home." With a playful yet directing flick of the reins, Sven strode quickly into a steady trot, and their sleigh's runners sliced through the snow-dusted glass floor as they disappeared from their workplace, leaving an empty, lonesome whole empty of its icy lid, allowing gentle, shimmering waves of cold dark blue water simmer and whisper against the banks.

* * *

><p>While the trolls weren't human at all (they acted both like that and like rocks—their talents were many), they used a similar pattern as the rest of the natural world. IE, they slept during the night under the twinkling stars with wind whistling at their mossy, warm backs, and worked during the day as the summer sun shined down and poured warmth onto them. Thus, as at the time Kristoff finished working for the day, so did the trolls.<p>

Twilight came earlier in the mountains than it did in the low laketown of Arendelle, allowing a dark-pink, orange-sponged backdrop against the sky as the sun faded from view. Their supper of varied mushrooms, spring vegetables, and freshly caught mountain fish was consumed, and Bulda shooed away the younger, sneaky trolls with her rough grey hands from a large portion she had saved for her beloved ward. "Kristoff is do back today! Shoo, shoo, shoo, you tiny thieves, you!" she commanded. She sent the little mischievous rascals laughing and somersaulting away. Then she put her hands on her hips and looked a little worriedly towards the far east end of their dominion, waiting for Kristoff and Sven to return home.

However, all the trolls knew that the drive up from the frozen lake was quite a one, even in the summer, and so they begrudgingly started to go to bed after the stars had been out and about twinkling their little hearts out for hours. The troll parents rubbed the backs of their tiny youngsters as they tucked themselves into round balls upon the wildflowers and moss and snoozed. The adults procrastinated from going to bed and whiled away their time by talking about olden times, current times, more summer, and the Arendellian coronation.

"It's only in two days. I'm so excited!" Bulda said.

Her husband, Cliff, nodded, excited as well. The entire clan of trolls felt a moral responsibility over the princesses of Arendelle. Hadn't their parents, the late king and queen, brought their tiny daughters in the dead of night to the trolls for their help? Grandpabbie had saved Anna, leaving only pleasant memories and a white streak through her pretty copper-colored hair, and warned Elsa. All the trolls knew, while the entire human populous of Arendelle was blissfully unaware, of the power and burden that hung heavy on the shoulders of the future queen. They all felt sorry for Elsa, and worried, and sympathetic.

Well, almost the entire human populous.

"You know, I have an idea," Bulda said to all. The trolls were sitting in a warm circle; in the center a warm spring's steam floated and rose through a broken circle in the heated dark earth.

Grandpabbie looked up from lighting his long, wooden pipe. He blew out a low breath of smoke and said, "What thoughts are you occupying, Bulda?"

"The queen's coronation is in two days," Bulda said, her hands rolling around as she expressed her thoughts to all the wide eyes and eager ears of her clan. "Arendelle is just gonna be bustlin' with activity. Perfect time for Kristoff to go down there to sell his ice, and"—Bulda's eyebrows raised, and her dark eyes twinkled and her pink crystal necklace jingled as she chuckled—"it's the perfect place for Kristoff to find himself a girl."

The mere mention of the word 'girl' sent the entire group into a frenzy of chatter. Not a single one wasn't talking with affirmation, their faces split with delighted smiles; some even rubbed their hands together in anticipation. The only exception, however, was Grandpabbie. He quietly blew in a deep throat full of delicious, smoking moss.

All of the trolls, not only Bulda and her husband, Cliff, had taken in the little blond-haired orphan the night the royals had rode in worry to the clan. Over his teenage years and early adulthood, all the trolls had contributed in some way to help the boy grow up. His peers played ball games and dug for crystals and roots and climbed rock walls with him. The older males helped educate him in how to race and take care of Sven, which both of them appreciated, since Sven liked being ridden well, and how to somersault and lift weights and swim in the dark pool. The female trolls had pinched his tiny pink cheeks with their hard fingers and fussed over his hair, his clothing, which had to be washed, unlike their moss outfits ("Humans and their clothes," Bulda tsked as she held up the tiny shirt and pants and shook her head) and reminded him to wash behind his ears and eat all his vegetables, not _just_ carrots (yes, even the green ones).

Grandpabbie had played an especially important role in Kristoff's education. He'd shown him all the constellations and how to navigate using the stars as directions with plenty of complicated math figures and letters and equations. He taught him the troll language and how to read and write, and how to survey, and geography, and plenty of notes of other human tribes and cities before the current capital and country of Arendelle of today had arisen. For Grandpabbie was the leader and the eldest of the elders among the trolls. He bore the burden of being extremely knowledgeable, being the wisest and the most discerning. Kristoff learned as the other trolls had to have a deep respect for the age and knowledge of Grandpabbie.

The point to this: all the trolls held an investment in the life of this tall, strong boy who'd turned into a man under their tender loving care. And what completes a man and his life more than education and experience? Someone to share it with. Specifically, a wife. Needless to say, despite their inability to be tactful, the trolls had taken notice that a troll wife for their Kristoff wouldn't play well. They were aware enough to take into account Kristoff's species and decided among themselves that a wonderful, caring woman from among his own people would do nicely for their Kristoff.

"What kind of girl?" an elderly female troll asked in excitement.

"A girl who doesn't mind his smell," another troll said, raising a finger and closing his eyes, sounding very matter-of-fact. Other trolls nodded ruefully, remembering the numerous occasions they'd been subjected to Kristoff's horrible manly musk.

"A girl who likes trolls!" another said.

"A girl who has good teeth!"

That last one met with plenty of affirmation. Good teeth was a wonderful thing to possess in the trolls' society.

"A girl who'll like us!"

"A girl who will make our Kristoff happy, even happier than us!" Bulda said firmly, hands on her hips and a serious nod.

"Perhaps he doesn't want a girl," Grandpabbie said quietly.

All the trolls froze and turned their astonished, stricken faces to their soft-spoken elder. A curl of grey smoke softly floated from the smoldering moss in his pipe.

"What do you mean? Of _course _Kristoff wants to find a nice girl, settle down, give us some grandkids!" Bulda said, to the agreement of the stony crowd about her.

"Perhaps, in due time," Grandpabbie said in his quiet, wise manner. "After all, even human boys who've barely interacted with the fairer sex of their species must feel the _need_ to find a loyal, lifelong companion. But these matters of the heart are not to be rushed, Bulda. Especially by us."

"But we matter in his heart, don't we?" Bulda said, trying to reason with Grandpabbie. "We know what's right for our Kristoff! I say we know a thing or two about love! We're experts at it!"

"Yes, perhaps," allowed Grandpabbie.

"I know my boy, Grandpabbie," Bulda said firmly, looking very in control and tough, "and darn it but ain't it time for that boy to get himself a girl! All he does is sweat all day long and come home to us! Not to mention speak to his ol' reindeer, which is just a one-sided conversation," she said, leaning closer to Grandpabbie with her rough small hand curled near her mouth. "It ain't natural."

"We'll talk to him about it," Grandpabbie said, smoke blowing with his breath.

"Thank you," Bulda said. Goodness knows, she loved that Sven like her own child, but Kristoff _would _make up strange conversations between him and his mute buddy! It wasn't natural, that's what.

But, since Grandpabbie decided to talk to Kristoff about his strange habit . . . "And _I'll _talk to Kristoff about him finding himself some nice girl and settling down!" Bulda said excitedly. This only started like a wildfire throughout the entire circle of trolls, setting it ablaze with twinkling pink, red, green, and blue crystals as their mouths yammered and their hands clapped together in anticipation.

Grandpabbie sat back on his hindquarters and sighed around the length of his pipe.

* * *

><p>The trolls were notorious to Kristoff and Sven for being meddlesome, loud, big, with huge senses of humor, and tending to mess around with his love life. It hadn't been a big issue before, Kristoff being only twenty-one with youth, time, and an inability to connect with any human beings on his side. Yes, he was totally prepared for snagging himself a boisterous, adventurous lady. Especially when he lived in the mountains and barely made more than a monthly trip down to Arendelle in the spring and summer to sell his wares.<p>

One of those such times was coming. His sleigh full so that every last inch was utilized, Kristoff was due for a trip down to the great capital. _However_, he guided his sled and reindeer down the slopes of the mountain _and_ took a detour around one of the thick rocky curves. The runners ran slick over the cool, packed road. Sven ran on, not entirely tired from his day of leisurely walking around the ice field, licking occasionally at one of the tufts of grass sticking up hopefully along the banks, and occasionally shouldering a heavy load that even Kristoff's great strength couldn't support. Sven's eyes were now narrowed against the setting sun and the slips of snow flying into his face.

As the night wore on, three things changed. The snow beneath Sven's beaten hooves disappeared, faded away into the thick dark grass of the southern part of Arendelle's mountains. The direction Sven was taking them was a familiar one, a southwesterly one. The sun's last remnants disappeared and were relaced by the dark blanket of blackish-blue night. Stars woke from their slumber and stretched and ran and shone. The temperature of the air faded from extremely cold to cold to an air laced with delicious smells of life popping up everywhere in Arendelle's warm, early summer.

The snow atop the mountains disappeared as warmth filled the air. In his seat, Kristoff took off his hat and slapped it down at his feet. Always keeping one hand on the reins, he relieved his gloves off, saying as he did so, "Well, Sven, if that heat's an indicator of anything, we're almost home."

Sven smiled broadly and leaped in happiness before he launched the entire vehicle faster towards home, where plenty of carrots, warm hugs, and a soft bed awaited him.

The entrance came along to the trolls' home and the sled slowed down as Sven faded into a walk. He closed his eyes and his nose perked up, searching eagerly for familiar smells. Kristoff easily walked off the sled and came alongside Sven. Steam from a fissure rose up and nearly blasted him in the face. Kristoff waved it away. "Next time, let's not walk straight into one of the hot springs. 'Kay, Sven?"

Sven barely heard him, for he heard instead, "KRISTOFF'S HOME!" and opened his eyes and rushed forward, dragging along a surprised Kristoff, whose hand hung on to Sven's harness.

"Sveeeeennnnnnn!" Kristoff shouted in surprise until the reindeer came to an abrupt halt, sending Kristoff flying into one of the surrounding dark grey rock walls. He face-planted while a group of four or five trolls Sven had stopped smoothly in front of bounced up and down and petted the soft nose and muzzle of the obliging, friendly reindeer, who was awfully glad to be home.

"KRISTOFF!" shouted Bulda, her arms open wide, as she accosted her adopted son.

He groaned (his nose was probably broken, more 'n likely than not). Instead of slipping down the wall like a slimy thing into a heap of bruised limbs and muscle, he found grip on the wall and pressed his hands against it, lifting himself off of it like performing a vertical push-up. He mopped his face with his hand, groaning. "Yeah, that'll probably leave a mark," he sighed, resigned to the consequences of his SMACK! into the wall.

He turned to Bulda, who bounced up to him and hugged his leg. "Hey, Bulda. Nice to see you, as always," he said.

Immediately more trolls, especially the maternal ones, crowded around him, heaping atop each other three to a pile to see him face-to-face. Bulda jumped atop one and immediately addressed Kristoff's bruised facial features. "Kristoff! Oh, let me see!" and her fingers pried and poked and prodded all over his face, leaving him no ability to reply to her. "Oh, goodness. Your nose, bound to be broken. Nope, just bruised. It'd take a lot more than a sturdy stone wall to break THAT thing!" she said.

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment," Kristoff said, amused.

Bulda ignored his comment and inspected his red eye, his bruised cheek, and then the disgusting smell that lurked all around his neck and in his ears. "Goodness gracious, boy!" she gasped, waving a hand all around her nose to dispel the smell. The stench met the stony nostrils of the other two pillars of the troll totem poles and they expressed their horror with sticky-out-y tongues and wrinkled noses. "Soap. I know you've heard of it," said Bulda.

"I use two bars. At _one_ time," Kristoff said, as Bulda shook her head and resumed her inspection of his well-being. "Seriously, I've made more payments for soap than for my sled." He'd had that thing for two months; it carted things _and _was a money-guzzler.

"Yeah? I used to scrub your little white butt with soap and managed to not have you knockout an entire herd of hogs in a pigsty afterwards," Bulda said, unimpressed.

_"Bulda . . ."_ Kristoff sighed. He allowed her to finish her inspection, which was filled with tut-tuts and tsks. "Are you quite finished?" he wondered after his arms grew tired from being kept aloft.

"I suppose I am, though I am _not_ pleased, Kristoff," Bulda said. Her pillar trolls beneath her carried her a human step or two back so she could face Kristoff with a disapproving frown.

"I got that impression, weirdly enough," Kristoff said. At Bulda's raised eyebrows, he said, his hands gesticulating, "So what if I don't bathe well or often enough? I've got better things to do, like load ice and pay for my sled."

"He should also focus on finding a girl, too," one of the many female trolls said.

"Maybe if he _bathed _every once in a while, a girl would _find him _instead of the other way around," another chuckled grimly.

"Wait, what?" Kristoff said, wondering why on earth the conversation had taken a swerve to an even more uncomfortable subject besides his personal bathing habits.

"We've been discussing a few things about you, Kristoff. It's what you get for taking forever to get home," Bulda said, smiling smugly and cocking her head. The trolls beneath her led her towards the circle of trolls. A confused Kristoff followed her lead, his face screwed up with 'what?' on his lips.

"Should I be worried about your subject of conversation?" Kristoff said curiously. A sea of expectant trolls gladly split their circle to allow plenty of room for Kristoff. He sat down in a cross-legged position and immediately kindly female trolls set him up with a rock plate loaded with delicious dinner that'd kept warm by the steamy fissures. One tied a stained napkin about him with a neat little tie around the back of his neck. "Is this a habit? Discussing me while I'm driving home?"

Bulda shook her head vehemently while quite a few other trolls nodded vigorously. Their tune changed to fervent shaking of their heads while Bulda nodded.

Kristoff looked beyond confused.

"Eat a little somethin', son. You gotta be tired from your long day of work," Bulda encouraged him sternly.

"Weirdly enough, I'm not interested in food right now," Kristoff said, sounding rather alert instead of tired as Bulda had expected.

At this declaration, the trolls all gave a collective gasps. Their shining eyes gazed up at Kristoff, one saying, "Are you all right, son?"

"Check for a temperature!" another yelled. A pillar was built and a stony hand was against Kristoff's forehead.

"Do you feel sick?"

"Is it your stomach?

"I always said sharing snacks with Sven was an unhygienic idea!" muttered another.

"My stomach is _totally _fine. But what's this about me finding a girl?" Kristoff wondered, leaning forward to catch every word.

"Or a girl finding you. Whatever works!" Bulda said cheerfully.

The other trolls all nodded in agreement, but Kristoff couldn't move, his face frozen in this . . . this weirded out, confused, slightly worried, look. Their expressions turned to confusion as one whispered, horrified, "I think we broke him."

"Have you guys lost your minds?" Kristoff wondered.

"No." Bulda stepped forward, looking stubborn. "Have you?"

"Sounds like you guys are arranging some marriage with a nonexistent girl while I'm not around! _I_ get the benefit of the doubt here!"

"You don't want a girl? A nice girl to grow old with? A girl to be your companion and make sure you wash and make you laugh and rock your babies and teach 'em to talk? A girl to hold at night and love all day long?" Bulda sounded firm and annoyed that Kristoff was waving away the idea of a wife. Her sass was strong, her hands on her hips, and her eyebrows raised on her cocked head. Several trolls behind her began to harmonize and they would've broke into song right then (it was a habit. Needless to say, those trolls were loud. Abrasive. Assertive. Really good singers) if Kristoff hadn't recognized the misunderstanding and stood up to be the party crasher.

"ENOUGH!" he yelled, standing up and shushing up every voice. His arms made different angles as he waved them around, trying to explain what sat on the tip of his tongue. "I'm NOT—I'm NOT trying to say I don't want a wife. Yeah, not that at all. I'm saying that I don't appreciate coming home to finding _my entire family _discussing my love life, or the _lack thereof_"—Kristoff sighed irritably here—"behind my back."

Silence followed. He breathed heavily, waiting for a reaction.

"So you're saying you _want _a girl?" a middle-aged troll wondered.

Kristoff sighed and pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose. "Wow. Um . . ." He was, obviously, at a loss for words.

"Which means this is a good time for me to tell you my plan!" Bulda said, sounding proud of her plan.

Kristoff opened his eyes and sighed again. "Does it involve finding a girl?"

"Now, how'd you guess?" Bulda said, half sass and half really wondering.

Kristoff sighed. Again. "I had an inkling, you know." He sounded tired now and sat back down. He added, "Does it involve interacting with other humans?"

"I _was_ hoping the girl for you _would _be a human . . ." Bulda said seriously.

"Does it involve me putting in effort to something I don't feel like doing right now?" Kristoff said. Everyone knew that human interaction was taxing and hard for their Kristoff. He always sounded a little stuttery when interacting with them, and sarcastic, and rude, and smelly, and off-putting, and stubborn. He could barely conduct a business transaction without offending someone or breaking some local sacred tradition. Oh, he was also really insensitive.

"See, this is why it's gonna be hard for you to find a girl. You don't wanna put in the effort. Just like a man," Bulda huffed.

"I don't have it in me to be anyone other than me!" Kristoff said, growing offended. "I can't help being antisocial around other humans! I don't _talk _to people! It's been that way my entire life, and it's not something about me that can go away just because I want it to!"

The trolls exchanged worried looks. Kristoff had a honest point.

Kristoff sighed and leaned his head atop one of his fists and looked at Bulda with a daring, tired look. "Still think I got it in me to find a wife?" he asked, sounding dejected and sarcastic.

"Kristoff, you gotta cheer up about yourself. You're just a bit of a fix—" Bulda began, but Kristoff turned his head away with a hand holding her up.

"Can you _not_ break into song, please? That's the _last_ thing I need at the moment," Kristoff said.

"I think it's _just _the thing you need right now," Bulda said firmly.

Kristoff sighed yet again and searched the trolly faces for Grandpabbie. He was lost among the trolls, though a trail of familiar smoke led Kristoff straight to him. His old solemn face looked both stern and sad for the boy. Perhaps he knew that Kristoff felt rather picked-on by his well-meaning family. "Grandpabbie, what do you think?" All the trolls immediately turned to wait for the counsel of wise Grandpabbie. "Should I go looking for trouble or leave well enough alone?"

Bulda turned to Kristoff with a frown. "That's a biased choice of words, huh, Kristoff?" She turned back to Grandpabbie and said, "Pabbie, should Kristoff go down to the capital of _wonderful_ Arendelle to get away from the mountains for once, and assimilate with other humans, possibly many _beautiful_ female ones?"

Grandpabbie removed his pipe from his mouth and blew out a ring. His brow creased with concentration. Then he looked up and met Kristoff with his old, wise eyes, and said, "You are quite sure that seeking a girl wouldn't make you happy?"

To be honest, Kristoff was hesitant. He wasn't sure about girls. He'd been surrounded by trolls for almost as long as he could remember. They were his family. Human girls weren't the trolls. He wouldn't know how to act around them. He'd seen them, sure, at many different little towns he'd sold his ice in. Many a barmaid had given him sympathetic looks when he got kicked out of a bar by cheating, drunk, burly businessmen who frankly didn't like his prices and wanted him to know that. He'd always rub the back of his neck and feel embarrassed to gain their sneaking, worried looks, and rejoined Sven, who was always worried about him. "C'mon, Sven," he'd say.

Perhaps human girls were sweeter, kinder, gentler than the trolls and other humans. But Kristoff didn't trust them.

He must've looked very deep in thought, for Bulda interrupted him gently, "It's Princess Elsa's coronation coming up, Kristoff. You should go."

Suddenly Kristoff remembered a scene, crystal clear. The night he'd been adopted by the trolls. He'd been sneaky enough to watch behind some 'rocks' with Sven to see the king and queen of Arendelle with their little daughters, Elsa and Anna. The princess Elsa, her blonde hair practically white, would be queen soon. And Anna. The little girl with the white streak in her hair. Her little sister.

The trolls had never fully delved into that tale even after Kristoff had begged them for why the princesses and the king and queen were with them at that time of night. Something about 'patient confidentiality' and whatnot. Anyway, they never fully explained.

All these years later, Kristoff remembered quite clearly that scene where he saw the trolls interact with his future monarchs. Grandpabbie'd healed Anna, warned Elsa about her ice powers. And something, perhaps curiosity, made him want to go down to the capital for the coronation. He'd never admit it for the world, of course, that a trip down there would be motivated by his curiosity about the princesses, to see how they turned out.

Kristoff breathed in deep and said, "I'm not going to look for a girl right now. But I've got a load of ice that needs to be sold. Sooooo . . ."—all the trolls were watching him with held-in breaths and expectant faces by this point—"I'll go down to the capital to sell it all."

Many cheers were released as older trolls hurriedly shushed them, casting angry looks at the riotous and worried looks at the clusters of sleeping troll children. However, the cheers didn't wake them up. They were sleeping as solid as rocks.

"_And_ look for a girl?" Bulda asked him eagerly.

"THAT'S the last item on my to-do list right now," Kristoff said quickly, before anyone could catch his scent.

"Fine. We won't expect you to bring a girl home," Bulda said, sighing but giving in. She whispered, "Of course, we _will _hope you do."

Kristoff laughed a tired little laugh. "Okay. Sure, Bulda."

Grandpabbie inhaled a deep breath full of smoke and watched as the trolls crowded around Kristoff as he ate his supper, telling him all the latest news, such as an avalanche that created a new rockslide playground for the kid trolls and the mushrooms popping up by the flowing stream. Grandpabbie hoped that Kristoff knew what he was doing, and what hopes he was raising by even just going to the capital. Most of all, he hoped that Kristoff would be careful. 'Cause people can beat you and curse you and cheat you . . .

And half of those people were human girls.

* * *

><p>The next morning, after Kristoff had been thoroughly tackled and climbed and talked to by the eager young trolls, Bulda loaded his sled with some nice victuals, advised him to remember some carrots for Sven (and to NOT share them with him), and all the trolls gathered to wave him off. Sven panted happily, his tongue hanging out, and when Kristoff said, leaning forward, "Let's go, buddy," he said his own doggy goodbye to the trolls and started to trot off.<p>

The reins in his hand, Kristoff waved to the trolls, who jumped up and down, trying to gain his attention.

"Bye, Kristoff!

"Have a good time!"

"Tell us what the princesses are wearing!"

"Don't forget the carrots!"

"Bring home a girl!"

Kristoff sighed, rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and turned back to face the path ahead of him. He muttered to himself, the wind, and Sven, "They're persistent; I'll give them that, Sven."

And he wondered why in his heart he secretly hoped to do that one thing he'd been refusing to do: find a girl.

**Oh, Kristoff. Seriously, those lines from Reindeer(s) Are Better Than People make me think that Kristoff hasn't had good interactions with humans. Poor buddy. :(**

**Thanks for reading! (Review?) :))**

**May God bless you!**


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